Oratio Dominica
by loathsome child
Summary: Mello is most vulnerable when he prays. Matt just can't bring himself to believe. Language and ideologically sensitive material.


_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.  
(In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.)_

Mello prays long after midnight, and Matt, pretending to be asleep, listens. It is usually in the early hours of the morning, after the moon has set but before the sun has risen that Matt hears him. The Dead Hours, as Mello would call them, because the world is stagnant and rooted steadfast to the soil. Only in a way that Mello finds peaceful, strangely.

Matt knows Mello is most vulnerable when he prays. His whispered, arid voice washes over Matt and dances above him like a ghost. And almost like a lullaby, it lulls him back to sleep again.

_Pater Noster, qui es in caelis..._

Before he heads out to the Mafia hideout, and standing by his motorcycle, Mello asks Matt to pray with him. Matt can't help but be surprised, but he does his best to conceal it. Mello's never asked him to do something like this before, as he knows Matt's religious convictions are nonexistent. They have never brought up the issue of religion before, instead simply skirting around it, preferring to settle on something between acceptance and indifference.

"Mello..." Matt intones, managing to convey an abundance of things in no more than two syllables. There's something of a plea in the tone of his voice, a '_please don't make me do this_,' but there's also a fair bit of a warning. _Don't fuck with me, not today, not right now..._

Mello raises an eyebrow. "You know Matt, Jesus died for our sins."

Matt takes in a sharp breath and lets his hands come up to awkwardly adjust his goggles. He doesn't see much truth in that statement. Jesus may have died, but he did come back to life. Therefore, 'Jesus temporarily suffered for our sins' would have been a more accurate statement. Matt wants to voice this, but instead, and to his surprise, something else comes out.

"Jesus died for his own sins. Everyone dies for their own sins, Mel."

Mello turns away sharply. As Matt walks back inside he can hear Mello's voice over the rush of traffic and his own jumbled, tumultuous thoughts.

_Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo._

When Mello comes back late that night, Matt knows it must have been one hell of a bloody fight. The apartment door bangs open, and startled, Matt drops his game controller. He lets out a few curses as the screen fades to black and a 'game over' splays itself lazily across the screen.

"You know Mello, it wouldn't hurt you to be a little less violent someti- _Jesus Christ!_ What the _fuck_ happened?"

He leaps to his feet. There are a myriad of scratches, cuts, and burns on Mello, but the one thing that captures Matt's attention is the clearly very bad burn spread across the entire left side of his face.

Matt directs Mello to the couch, where it's obvious that even the simple act of lying down is a very painful experience. Mello's face looks like it has been ripped off in layers, dark black and leathery on the surface and then pink where the skin has melted away underneath. It looks wet - there is already puss beginning to ooze from the yellowing edges, and the rest of his face around the burn is swollen.

"Shit, Mello..."

Mello cracks his right eye open and shoots Matt a weak glare.

"SWAT team, Kira… Explosives...." Mello says, seemingly by means of explanation.

"Shut up you moron!" Matt admonishes, alarmed. The last thing he should be doing at the moment is talking.

"Matt..."

Crouched next to the couch, Matt looks down into Mello's eyes.

"_Matt_."

It's something between a plea and an order, but Matt thinks it's most likely the former. After all, Mello is most vulnerable when he's praying.

The Latin slips off Matt's tongue easily. He has, after all, heard the words many times before.

_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.  
Pater Noster, qui es in caelis..._

He watches as Mello mouths the words along with him, and reaches down to squeeze his friend's hand.

It's late at night. The argent sliver of moon has set; it's descent a practice in mute tranquility. The sun will not rise for a while now. It will be dark and it will be quiet, and frightening, lurid creatures will move under the cover of such a deceitful, illusory twilight.

These are the Dead Hours, and sunlight dances above their heads like ghosts.

…_sed libera nos a malo.  
(…but deliver us from evil.)_

Amen.


End file.
